“You are fifty-two years old,” he said. “How could you leave your country, your home, your wife, and your daughters?”
C.T. thought for a moment and then said, “If Jesus Christ be God and died for me, then no sacrifice can be too great for me to make for Him!”
Something about that phrase struck C.T., and before he went to bed that night, he wrote it down in his journal. He reminded himself that sacrificing everything was reasonable when he looked at things from heaven’s perspective.
The following morning C.T. and Alfred boarded the ship. They were an unlikely pair. One was considered by most people to be too old to embark on such a missionary endeavor, and the other was considered too young for it.
It was a difficult farewell, especially for Edith Studd, who had become engaged to Alfred the week before.
As dusk fell on the first day at sea, C.T. wrote a letter to Priscilla.
I longed, but dared not, say good-bye or kiss again. I dared not. The tears came as I thought of your tears, and tears again of joy at the way He comforted you. Now let us thank Him in anticipation not only with our lips but by our lives. You little dream of how I know that you pay the greatest price, only I did not dare say so to you, but I do admire you, darling, and shall ever do so.… I have never felt the power of God more since those Shanghai days. Truly this has been like the Seven going out. Good-bye, my darling Priscilla. We began risking all for God and we will end as we began, loving each other utterly and only less than we love Jesus.
The voyage to Kenya was uneventful, and the two men arrived in Africa in good spirits. But no sooner had they disembarked than the problems began.The three young men who had gone on ahead met them in Mombasa, and they confessed that they were having serious doubts about going on to the Congo with C.T. Many Christians in Mombasa and Nairobi had told them that they thought C.T.’s ideas were unrealistic and that his health was not up to living in Africa.
This was a great blow to C.T., who had been looking forward to the five of them joining forces and traveling on to the Congo. Now he wondered whether he should go on with Alfred as his sole companion. He even feared that if Alfred talked to the other three, he, too, would have reservations about going on.
During the voyage to Africa, C.T. and Alfred had become good friends, and after listening to what the other three had to say, Alfred decided to journey on with C.T. Fearing that Alfred’s resolve might falter if they waited in Mombasa too long, C.T. was anxious to get moving. He hastily bought all the supplies he thought they would need, including two bicycles. Then he and Alfred said good-bye to the three young men and traveled to Nairobi. From Nairobi they caught a train and headed westward to Lake Victoria. There they transferred to a steamer and crossed the lake before boarding another train. After another steamer ride across another lake and then a car ride over deeply rutted roads, they finally reached Masindi, a small CMS mission station in Uganda.
C.T. and Alfred arrived in Masindi exhausted. Since there was no room for them in the mission house, they pitched their tent in the yard, facing the door toward the west. Beyond the mission station to the west lay a large, unmapped area populated with lions, snakes, and cannibals! C.T. was on the verge of fulfilling the dream he had nurtured since reading the placard “Cannibals want missionaries” in Liverpool five years before.
The following morning C.T. awoke feeling refreshed and ready to keep moving. He soon became concerned for Alfred, however, who had developed a high fever in the night and was too weak to get out of bed. C.T. nursed and spoon-fed his friend. Since arriving in Africa, Alfred had lost a lot of weight, and C.T. began to worry about his condition. A nagging voice in his head said, We are still in British East Africa. How will he cope when we reach the real fever zone? It was a question C.T. could not answer.
C.T. and Alfred had been camped at Masindi for three days when a telegram arrived from London for Alfred. It had been sent on from Mombasa, and C.T. hoped it would cheer him up. Most likely it was a note of encouragement from his father. But Alfred’s mouth dropped open as he read the telegram. It was not what he or C.T. had been expecting. The telegram read, “Cannot consent you two going interior alone.”
C.T. could scarcely believe it. Was this the end of the trip into the Belgian Congo?
Chapter 11
Lunch with Cannibals
Before he could open his mouth and say the wrong thing, C.T. groaned and quickly left the tent. He dare not try to persuade Alfred to carry on. While C.T. was ready to face disease, wild animals, and hostile natives himself, he would not force another man to do the same. If, after receiving the telegram from his father, Alfred wanted to return to Nairobi, so be it. The situation was made all the more difficult because Alfred was no ordinary traveling companion; he was the son of C.T.’s good friend and his daughter’s fiancé.
I will have to wait and pray that God will make Alfred’s path clear to him, C.T. told himself as he left the tent.
The following morning Alfred’s temperature was back to normal, and his eyes were shining with anticipation. “I have made up my mind,” he told C.T. “We will face the future together, whatever it may hold.”
“Are you quite sure you have heard from God on this?” C.T. asked.
“Yes,” Alfred replied. “In fact, I spent much of the night meditating on Psalm 105. Here, listen to this. ‘When they were but a few men in number; yea, very few, and strangers in it. When they went from one nation to another, from one kingdom to another people; he suffered no man to do them wrong: yea, he reproved kings for their sakes; saying, Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.’ C.T., I believe we are to go forward together and that God will take care of us. It is past time for the gospel to advance into the heart of Africa. I for one want to be a part of that.”
C.T. brushed a tear from his eye. “Bless you for your loyalty, my boy,” he said. “It is settled then. As soon as you are well enough, we will begin the three-day trek to Lake Albert.
That night, though, they suffered another setback. One of the porters was lighting a candle when a gust of wind blew the flame toward the canvas tent, which immediately caught fire. C.T. heard a loud whoosh and turned to see the roaring flames. He sprang to his feet and yelled for everyone to stand clear. Then he watched helplessly as the tent and everything in it was engulfed by the fire and destroyed.
The following morning, as C.T. stood looking at the pile of embers that was once their tent and belongings, the thought that they could go back for more supplies crossed his mind. But C.T. refused to entertain it—retreat was not in his vocabulary. Instead he decided that they would press on with the smaller tents and the supplies they still had. God would make up the shortfall, he was sure of that.
The porters had lighter burdens to bear as the group set out the following morning. The group headed west and, after three days of trekking, arrived at the eastern shore of Lake Albert. C.T. stopped and took off his cap. In the hazy distance, across the lake, he could see land—the Belgian Congo. He felt like Joshua preparing to enter the Promised Land. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude overcame him—gratitude to God for his health and strength, gratitude to Alfred for his loyalty and faith, and gratitude to all those in England who had made this moment possible through their prayer and financial support.
Alfred walked up behind C.T. and took in the view himself. The two of them then sank to their knees. “Father, we are Yours,” C.T. prayed. “Give us favor with the government officials. Help us to get entry into the land. Show us where to go; direct our paths.”
When they finished praying, they stood up, and C.T. asked Alfred if he spoke any French.
“Just the bit I learned at school,” Alfred replied.
“We ought to be able to manage with that,” C.T. laughed. “So many people have said that the Belgians won’t let British people through their territory, but when they hear your French, they’ll probably welcome us and let us do anything we want.”
That night the men camped on the lakeshore. Since food supplies were running low, they ate porridge for dinner. They were just finishing it when a white man, obviously a trader, paddled up in a canoe.
“Hall’s the name,” the man yelled. “Are you British?”
“We certainly are,” C.T. replied. “Come and sit with us.”
The trader pulled his canoe up onto the sandy shore and strolled over to C.T. and Alfred. He was carrying a welcome string of fish. Soon the fish were frying over the open fire while Hall busily talked away.
“I only stay on the British side of the lake,” he said. “And the likes of you would too if you have any sense.”
“What makes you say that?” Alfred asked.
Hall laughed. “I’ve seen too much to ever want to get tangled up in the Belgian Congo. Last month an English adventurer was stripped and beaten and sent back across the lake more dead than alive. But he recovered, not like the elephant hunter who was shot in the shoulder with a poisoned arrow. He’s buried over there in the jungle. No. If you enter the Congo, you’ll never come out alive.”
“Oh, they’ll be too interested in our bicycles to do anything to us,” C.T. said, pointing to the two bicycles that lay beside the tent.
“Bicycles!” the trader exclaimed. “You can’t be serious. You don’t mean to bicycle through the jungle, do you?”
“That’s precisely what we intend to do. And when they can’t carry us, we’ll carry them,” C.T. replied.
“Now I’ve heard everything!” Hall said, shaking his head. “I hope you two both have wills written, because you are going to need them.”
“We will trust ourselves into God’s hands,” C.T. said. “We’re on His mission, and He will see us through.”
The trader shrugged. “So you are taking the steamer to Mahagi tomorrow then, I expect.”
“We hope so,” Alfred said. “We hear that some missionaries from another agency have set up a camp there, and we hope to get some information from them, but ultimately we are headed for Dungu.”
Hall whistled. “Rather you than me!”
That night C.T. did not sleep well. Rain and wind battered the tent, and he found himself replaying the trader’s words. Of course, to the natural eyes, it was suicide to go into the Congo, but C.T. refused to be a “chocolate soldier”—if it cost him his life to follow orders, so be it.
The next day the men broke camp and took the steamer across Lake Albert to Mahagi. Much of the way across, C.T. prayed for favor with the Belgian immigration officials they would meet on the other side. His prayers were answered. Even though they were a two-man mission with no one else to back them, the officials welcomed C.T. and Alfred and wished them luck in their travels.
“You are going to need it!” one of the officials said. “Pray you don’t meet the Balenda tribe. They are in an uproar right now and likely to dismember a strange white man on the spot.”
“Thank you,” C.T. said, quickly gathering up his papers. He did not want to stay and hear more discouraging information.
The trip westward started out smoothly enough. Their first stop along the route was to be Kilo, some eighty miles away. The bicycles proved to be a useful way to get around. They were faster than walking and easier on the feet. However, C.T. and Alfred were only two days into the trek when they found themselves far ahead of their porters.
When they came to a fork in the trail they were following, C.T. and Alfred decided to take the fork that continued west. Kilo lay to the west, and since the other fork headed in a more northerly direction, they reasoned the westerly fork was the right one to take. Regrettably, they were wrong. Soon the track they had chosen to follow petered out, and the two missionaries found themselves lost in the dense African jungle.
C.T. and Alfred tried to find the way back to the trail. They stumbled over large tree roots in the steamy, dense jungle while monkeys scurried around in the branches above their heads. But their attempt to find their way back only led them deeper into the jungle. Disoriented and by now very hungry, they came to a small clearing. They emerged from the sunless gloom of the jungle into bright sunlight. C.T. studied the sky above, searching for a cloud, a migrating bird, anything that might help him get his bearing. But still he had no idea how to rejoin the trail.
